Tweed Jackets and Short Skirts
by Malana
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets featuring Amy Pond and the Eleventh Doctor. Ranging from friendship to romance.
1. Ginger

Title: Tweed Jackets and Short Skirts: An Eleven/Amy Collection.

Charaters/Pairings: 11th Doctor, Amy (various levels of shippiness)

Canon Placement: Post-End of Time

Disclaimer/Notes: Sadly, I don't own the Doctor, Amy, The TARDIS or anything else relating to Doctor Who

Summary: A collection of drabbles staring Eleven and Amy Pond. The first four stories were written for the drabble tag on the LJ comm: Eleven_Amy

**Ginger**

It wasn't fair. She was ginger. Why did she get to be ginger? Not only ginger, but blatantly so.

She flaunted it on purpose, he was sure. He'd just be standing there, minding his own business (well, maybe some other people's business as well) and suddenly there she'd be, in all her gingerness, glaring at him, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. He swore that half the reason her tellings-off were so effective was the hair.

Eleven lifetimes and he'd never gotten to be ginger, she'd got it in one go.


	2. Choices

"Are you kidding me?"

The Doctor gave Amy a quizzical look, "What's wrong? You're the one who said you needed a new pair of shoes after the bit of mud on Veralix 7."

Amy glared at him. "Okay, first off, it wasn't a 'bit of mud'. The entire planet was mud. And it smelled like brussel sprouts. Secondly, that's not a new pair of shoes, that's twenty new pairs of shoes." She gestured wildly at the pile of shoes in front of her.

"Twenty-three, actually" the Doctor corrected automatically.

"You bought me twenty-three pairs of shoes?!"

"Of course not. You know I don't carry money."

"Tell me you didn't steal them."

He shook his head. "The TARDIS wardrobe took care of it."

Amy raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean, it 'took care of it'."

"Oh, the explanation is too complex to go into," he replied airily.

"Too complex to go into, or you don't understand it either?" Amy asked, arms crossed over her chest.

"Oy! Do you want the shoes or not?"

"Yes, please." Amy grinned as she grabbed a purple pair from the pile.

"And, Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." She darted forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek before heading off to her room with her newly chosen shoes, leaving a surprised, but smiling Doctor-and a giant pile of footware-in her wake.


	3. Phoning Home

Amy was siting on the edge of one of the TARDIS's many catwalks, idly swinging her legs, staring into nothingness.

"What's wrong?"

She startled a little, looking up at the concerned face of the Doctor. It was disturbing how quietly he could move.

"Nothings wrong," she said unconvincingly.

"You've been talking to your mom on the phone again, haven't you?" He sat down beside her. "You're always quiet after you talk to her."

"We were just fighting again."

"About me, I'm assuming."

Amy smiled grimly, "What else? But if you weren't around she'd find something else to be angry at me about."

"We could always swing by Earth again if you want."

Amy thought for a moment. Letting out a sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder.

"We probably should," she said at last. "But can we stay like this for a little while longer?"

He smiled and slipped his hand around hers. "We've got a time machine, Amy. We can stay like this as long as you like."


	4. Breakfast

Amy awoke to the smell of frying bacon. Curious, she pulled on a robe and stepped into her slippers before heading out into the TARDIS's wandering corridor.

She let the aroma guide her, trying to memorize her path so she'd be able to get back. Two weeks in this thing, and she was still constantly getting lost. She'd swear that the layout changed while she slept.

Following her nose, she eventually ended up in a large kitchen she'd never seen before. There was gleaming metal and marble everywhere. And, standing at the stove, wearing what looked suspiciously like a chef's hat, was the Doctor.

"You can cook?" Amy asked, not bothering to hide her shock.

The Doctor turned toward her, a grin lighting up his face. He gestured at the stovetop littered with pots and pans.

"Apparently, I can!" He sounded just as surprised as she was.

"A little domestic for you, isn't it?"

"A bit," he admitted as he put out two plates on the counter. "But, on the plus side: Eggs!"


End file.
